Me: G says that you are the strong, silent type and hard to get to know.
Him: Mmm.
Me: I quite like that. I think, my hero, the genius, I know him. But that can also somewhat undermine your glamour. Do you know what I mean?
Him: No man is a hero to his valet.
Me: Do you want to think about that?
Him: Behind every great man stands a slightly bemused woman?
Mr. Waffle
Quotes of the week (loosely interpreted)
I found this in a document I was reading recently:
Many wheels have been set in motion, which do not need to be reinvented.
I ask you, really? I have met my master in the matter of cliche.
Many weeks ago, I found this in the Irish Times and I’ve been storing it up for you since, it was apparently said by Louis de Paor and reported by Quentin Fottrell (great name eh?). It would be important that you know about Peig to appreciate it.
When she [Peig] was dying there was a pilgrimmage to be at her bedside. Isn’t it funny the way people don’t mention Henry James’s “Portrait of a Lady” as an excuse for extinguishing the English language?
A very bold Princess at bedtime: Can I have a biscuit?
Mr. Waffle: The audacity of hope.
Probably undue formality
Him:Â I have a meeting at 5, so I may not be home until after the children have gone to bed.
Me: OK, not to worry, I’ll be there.
Him: Give the children my apologies.
We laugh that we do not weep
Mr. Waffle: How was the afternoon?
Me: Michael fell down the stairs on his head.
Him: Oh dear.
Me: Daniel slipped off the toilet and banged his head on the toilet bowl.
Him: Oh dear.
Me: I turned my back on Michael while he was flushing the toilet and when I looked back, he had his head in the bowl and his mouth open lapping up the spray.
Him: That toilet has had a busy afternoon.
Working on maintaining the language of Voltaire
My poor husband is resigned to continuing to speak to the children in French; he doesn’t even complain any more. However, when my sister saw him doing the Princess’s homework with her – she encouraged insurrection by saying “this is ridiculous”.
It is true that it’s perhaps a little odd to hear the following:
Him: Lis-le.
Her: “Tá RÃrá ag rith.â€
Him: Très bien.
Her: Papa, je peux arrêter là ?
Him: Non, il faut continuer. Donc, « Tá Lúlú ag léamh. »
Her: “Ta sé ag léamh.â€
Him: Non « sé » c’est lui, il faut dire « sÃ. »
And so on… I appreciate that it requires a slightly unusual set of language skills to understand the above but I thought you would like that.
I thought they might make some French friends and Irish playgrounds seem to be full of French kids so my children are always running into French people in the park. Unfortunately, the French adopt a strict protocol of ignoring other French speakers so that can be a little disconcerting but I remain hopeful.
Once, shortly after we returned, when we were in Cork a nice polite English man and his pregnant French wife approached me and said that they noticed the boys were speaking French to each other and how did we manage it. Michael used my moment’s inattention to rush for the pond so I was anxious to be off and couldn’t explain to them that this was due to our recent return from a francophone country.
Now, the boys never speak French to each other. Sometimes the Princess speaks French to them and they will reply to her in French. We have hired a new woman to replace our current French childminder (the delightful Aliette). The new person is, to my great delight, rather poor at English. Daniel was sick the other morning and she minded him. By the end of the morning he was resigned to the fact that he had to speak French to her. Though, as Mr. Waffle points out, it is a little disconcerting that the language of domestic administration continues to be French. We are getting blinds fitted and I spent many useless minutes trying to remember the French word for this so that I could tell our new woman that there was a man coming to install same. Store, if you care (pronounced differently).
Another string to my bow is DVDs which, where possible, are watched in French. Dora is hilarious. She speaks French with the odd word of English in a French accent – allons y – lez’s go! Dora’s abuela, who has become grandma, speaks French with a strong American accent. My husband observes that this particular linguistic regime makes the role of the mariachi band more difficult to understand.
God, nobody said that having notions (as the nuns would say) was easy.
Modern living
Mr. Waffle: We’re very post-modern this evening.
Me: Eh?
Him: You’re changing plugs (all of our appliances have two pin plugs, in Ireland we have a three pin plug regime).
Me: Mmm.
Him: And I’m sewing a button back on Michael’s trousers.
Pause.
Him: That’s tomorrow night’s blogging taken care of then.
Today was a rather less post-modern experience as our childminder (normally v. reliable) couldn’t make it until 3.30 and I had to hare round at lunch time collecting the children and bringing them home (also denting car and losing wing mirror in office car park). My saintly mother-in-law drove across town to mind them in our house until the childminder came. Childminder has got the job in high finance that she was looking for (yes, really) and will shortly be handing in her notice. I am exhausted from it all and must shortly turn to interviewing new lucky candidates.
Will save the description of my second house for tomorrow. You are on the edge of your seats out there, aren’t you?